[ Comparatively, he's underdressed--a pair of joggers and a tank top, both black to match, his feet bare, his hair a bit wild down his back. The smile he's plastered on is performative, practiced: the kind he's stowed away in his arsenal for nights like these, situations where things feel hopeless. It isn't Cloud's fault, and there's no reason to trouble him with his issues as of late, so he tries to put a bit of cheer into his voice when he pulls the door open.
The suite isn't even really a suite, but living in the barracks once upon a time means he can make the most of it. The room is neat and clean, the bed still made, what little clothes and toiletries he has kept tidy on the small shelf that serves as a closet. He takes a step back to let Cloud in, brandishing that lackluster smile, and gestures towards the bed. Not too many places to sit here. ]
Hey, Cloud. Come on in. [ And, genuinely: ] You look great.
no subject
The suite isn't even really a suite, but living in the barracks once upon a time means he can make the most of it. The room is neat and clean, the bed still made, what little clothes and toiletries he has kept tidy on the small shelf that serves as a closet. He takes a step back to let Cloud in, brandishing that lackluster smile, and gestures towards the bed. Not too many places to sit here. ]
Hey, Cloud. Come on in. [ And, genuinely: ] You look great.